


qui cum canibus concumbunt cum pulicibus surgent

by Bubastisboo



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Canon-Typical Behavior, Canon-Typical Violence, Dubious Consent, Explicit Language, F/M, Faction-Typical Sexism, Power Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 10:15:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17640857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bubastisboo/pseuds/Bubastisboo
Summary: Caesar's Legion: The Early YearsOne fine day, Edward gifts a young, inexperienced Joshua Graham with a new capture for his own particular use.Joshua battles internally over what to do with her.





	qui cum canibus concumbunt cum pulicibus surgent

Despite my vocal protestations to Edward, the capture came to me that night as the sun set over the canyonlands; not long after mess. The unceremonious way she stumbled into the tent was more than enough indication to me that an officer had led her here at Edward's request. I say officer; as surely any weedy recruit would have fucked the bitch by now. I scanned the insides of her legs casually as she came jaggedly forward - they seemed clean of both blood and the slick of semen: an officer it was, then.

 

She came to a standstill by the side of my cot, at the far end of the tent. I rose from my chair and dusted the palms of my hands habitually against the worn denim of my jeans. A habit of Father's I had yet to break. Give it time, I always say. I cleared my throat.

 

"I'm not going to fuck you, you know."

 

She stood rigid as a cactus, her fists balled at her sides as if she expected an admonishing slap.

 

"I _said_ , I'm not going to fuck you," I paused for effect, "...Whore."

 

She nodded stoically, and I felt a familiar, unwelcome pressure start to build in my prick. Treacherous beast. I took relief then in the positioning my underwear gave me. She mightn't notice at all.

 

"Well? Then leave!"

 

She remained.

 

"I said leave me!"

 

I crossed the space between us in barely three strides and struck her across the face with the back of my hand. Only then did she move, synchronously with the motion of the blow, presumably to lessen the impact. A small, pathetic moan escaped her parted lips and I felt myself twitch against my waistband. God give me strength.

 

She righted herself slowly, keeping her head fully turned away from me; as if the absence of her face would somehow prohibit me from lashing out at her again if I were to so choose. It was a truly pathetic display of feminine subservience. I had half a mind to strike her again, just to teach her a valuable lesson in self-respect. As I moved forward to close the gap between us, she flinched. I sighed impatiently and grabbed her tucked in chin. “Well, let me look at you then.”

The tension in her body slackened enough for me to turn her face towards mine. Her bottom lip was split, and there were already three prominent red welts forming across her cheek from the backs of my fingers. I smiled at my own handiwork, running the pad of my thumb across the broken skin of her swollen lip. The skin was surprisingly soft and slightly squishy, like an overripe prickly pear: spoiled fruit. My lip curled at the apt comparison. I cast my eyes to hers then, and she glanced away like some child that had been caught out in a lie. Even in the low light of the tent cast by the oil lamp, I could see the dirty pink flush creep across her cheeks and nose as my thumb lingered on her mouth. I pushed against her and she yielded: like a good little wanton bitch, taking the tip of the digit inside of her plump, parted lips. Her eyes were hooded then; the dark lashes fanned across each socket like the wispy leaves of a honey mesquite. Despite myself I allowed her to suck gently, the rhythmic pressure of her contracting mouth against my thumb synchronised perfectly with the pounding of blood against my ears, and the exquisite throbbing of the head of my shame.

 

I pushed in past the first knuckle. She sucked, and she sucked, and she sucked. Her eyes were open again and she met my gaze; I allowed it. They were common and brown, although the pupils were large and inky in the dimness, which gave her a coquettish appeal. Obviously emboldened by my approving look, her tongue began to encircle me. It was warm and didn’t feel at all rough or textured. Her technique also changed then, and she began to suckle at me as if she were at her mother’s teat. The movement caused the bed of my nail to brush – ever so slightly – back and forth against her incisors, which you would _think_ would be painful or unpleasant, but it wasn’t. The sensation was nigh overwhelming. I wanted her then, I think. I mean… I wanted her in the way that was meant only for the sanctity of marriage. I wanted to take what was rightfully mine. I deserved her, didn’t I? And while there was no Temple, or Sealer to officiate our inevitable coupling… Edward had given her to me. That was enough, wasn’t it? These were exceptional circumstances. Why _shouldn’t_ I accept the fruits of my labour? My resolve collected at last, I stepped forward; however, the sudden change of angle was awkward and unnatural for my arm. I relinquished my hold on her chin, and my thumb withdrew from her mouth with a sharp, sudden rush of cool air and an audible _schlock_ , like I had just popped the top off a bottle of Sunset.

 

Without missing a beat, she closed the gap between us and reached down, tracing her fingers over the bulging fabric concealing my erection. The lusty bitch _had_ noticed then. The featherlight contact made my knees buckle and my breath hitch in my throat. I closed my eyes. The pleasure my body felt as she squeezed me gently in her palm was intoxicating, and almost indescribable – it was at once all far too much, and yet nowhere near enough. It was like the first drops of rain as a storm broke on a hot day. Or the gushing relief of pissing after having to hold it in all morning during church. It was like the exquisite pain of pressing a fresh bruise. The feeling of Mother running her deft fingers through my hair. It was strange and yet so familiar – the intimacy felt _right_ , unlike my own hand had so many times. She squeezed again and I gasped. My hands didn’t know what to do, and so they hung awkwardly at my sides, my fingers twitching like I was in the throes of death. I wanted to grab her and throw her on the bed; I wanted to fuck her like I had seen so many men do to captures before. It was enticing, and so easily obtainable. But I didn’t; and I cannot entirely reconcile why – I can only assume that this torturous teeter tottering on the edge of carnal pleasure was _enjoyable_ for me. It was too easy to just fuck her like those dogs out there mate with their used, sloppy bitches.

 

My eyes shot open. I am _not_ a subservient dog like them. I will not be tempted by the bloated, putrid meat that Edward throws to me. She had reached my belt buckle and had begun to unlatch it. My arms shot up between us and I grabbed her wrists. I _will_ stand by the courage of my conviction. Her eyes widened and I knew I was hurting her. I yanked those serpentine fingers away from me and pulled her to the side. She cried out and I heard her shoulder pop in the violent motion. She fell to her knees, mouth agape in a silent scream of pain as I hastily readjusted myself and clasped my belt. I should have kicked her then. I had every right. Kicked that swollen whore mouth that dared to taste me; that deigned to convince me that I had _wanted_ to be tasted.

 

I didn’t kick her. Instead, I sat on my bed and observed her. She was clutching at her left shoulder and shaking slightly, her chin tucked back against her chest as it had been before. I could tell that she was crying. I sighed.

 

“Are you alright?”

 

She sniffed, pathetically.

 

“I won’t ask again.”

 

She raised her head once more and looked in my direction. I could tell that she was looking at some point beyond me, on the fabric wall behind my head. It was disrespectful and evasive, but I reasoned that she had thus far received ample punishment for her vexatious behaviour. Finally, she spoke.

 

“Yes.” Her voice was barely a whisper, and I felt my ire begin to build again.

 

“I can’t hear you. Speak plainly to me.”

 

“YES. I’m fine.” Her accent was strange to me. A slight nasal twang that belonged neither in the Utah nor Arizona, it didn’t sound like the Southern tribes of Texas either. I cocked an eyebrow.

 

“Where are you from?”

 

She met my eyes again at last. “Northeast.”

 

“Northeast? Like Denver?” She smiled slightly at my words; a strange and unusual thing, considering the circumstances of our conversation.

 

“No, much, _much_ further than that. I’m from the Midwest.” Her voice was animated, and I smiled genuinely in response, beguiled by her sudden vivacity.

 

“The Midwest? Where the Brotherhood fled to?” Her eyes widened at the mere mention of the faction, and she nodded.

 

“Well then,” I leaned forward, to get a better look at her; my palms digging in to the stiff mattress. “Tell me about the Midwest.”

 

***

 

She spoke long into the night, and I listened intently. Truth be told, I think it was probably the most I have ever heard a woman speak in my life. My Mother was a woman of few words, and Edward decided early on that the “word of a cunt” held no practical application within our ragtag faction. It was pleasant – if I am to be completely honest – it had been well over two years since I had met such a willing bearer of tactical information. I have no doubt that it would prove to be useless intel, as I am f _airly_ certain that Edward’s immediate plans for expansion do not include the flooded remnants of the “Great Lakes”; nevertheless, I devoured her words.

 

At the call for third watch, I felt my eyelids begin to grow heavy and sandy. I rubbed at them; the sweat and dirt of the day stinging, and I scrunched up my nose reflexively. The girl was lying on the floor, hands crossed over her breasts, still speaking. About the difference in wildlife, I think. Apparently, the Midwest has something called a _radstag_ , and something called a _donquix_ ; both similar to those Giddyup Buttercups you sometimes find in abandoned stores. It was all quite fascinating, but I had to sleep. I shot my hand out and clicked in her direction until she stopped speaking and turned her head to look at me. The surprise was evident on her face.

 

“It’s late. I need rest.” I declared loudly.

 

I stood and began to undress quickly. She remained on the floor, hesitant as to whether she should look at me or look away. It was nothing if not predictable, really, that after all we had been through this evening, she should still want to slick her desires. I shook my head sadly at the weakness of the female will. Stripped down to my underwear, I folded my clothes on top of the trunk at the foot of the cot; placing my belt and boots on the floor beside it. I turned and stood over her. She moved herself into a sitting position, with her legs tucked under her and to the side. She leant her weight on her uninjured shoulder and looked up at me.

 

“You are to remain on the floor. The ground is relatively soft, and I do not eat in my tent, so you have no need to fear radroaches or rats.” She nodded.

 

“What was that?” I asked, as I turned out the lamp on my desk. The room was engulfed by a fuzzy, purple darkness. As my eyes adjusted to the night, I made out her figure, a darker shadow still sitting upright.

 

“Yes.” Her demeanour had changed, and I sensed a spark of defiance in her reply. It occurred to me then that she did not sport a slave collar – Edward reserved those for the more _formidable_ captures – and may try to escape as I slept. I crossed the room once more and climbed on top of my bed, placing my arms behind my head. I spoke out to the inky void:

 

“If you try to escape the camp, you will be caught by the night’s watch, and you will be raped until you are dead. Similarly; if you try to hurt me in my sleep, I will hand you over to the recruits, and you will be raped until you are dead.” I paused for effect once again, “Do we understand each other?”

 

“Yes.” Her voice was suitably shaky again, and I smiled as I closed my eyes.

 

***

 

I dreamt of my Mother, of her voice, and her thin fingers running through my hair, scratching lightly at my scalp as she told me stories of our people.

 

I dreamt of the day she died, and the look on her face as her eyes glossed over with lifelessness.

 

I dreamt of the Midwest, and of giant Giddyup Buttercups trying to push through the gates of their pen, their snouts round, hard and relentless; thick necks thrusting back and forth in a mechanical fashion. I yelled out for my sister to let them out; that they were hurting, that they needed to run free, yet she laughed and sucked her thumb while running away from me.

 

I dreamt of the girl, climbing on top of me in my cot, and stroking me again through the soft white cotton of my underwear. I felt myself grow again beneath her touch. I felt the tiny beads of my release begin to drip down the head, mixing in with the sweat and the dirt, into the dark hair that trailed down from my stomach. As she began to work on the buttons, my breath came in short, sharp bursts. This was it. I could not resist her temptation anymore. I wanted to feel myself inside of her, the way I saw the others do it, in-and-out, in-and-out. It looked slick and wet and _good_. I imagined it would feel like the inside of her mouth had. Soft and warm and _sucking_. Her hand reached inside, and my eyes shot open.

 

I was sweaty, and my heart was pounding like river rapids in my ears. I reached down and felt the wetness that had soaked the front of my underwear. I was hard again. I felt ashamed; my face burning hot in the darkness. I turned my head and made out the shape of the girl on the floor. I could just take her now. Just to get it over with. I closed my eyes and tried to push the thought from my mind. Yet, to my chagrin, my entire brain seemed to be consumed with a vision of her wrapping her lips around my cock head, sucking my length the way she had done my finger. I groaned and covered my face with my hands. There was nothing else for it. I turned my head and spoke.

 

“Are you awake?”

 

A beat passed. “Yes.”

 

My heart was hammering in my chest and my throat felt tight. This was so foreign to me. I pushed the feelings away; concentrating on the task at hand. I took a deep breath.

 

“Come to me.” It wasn’t an order, but neither was it a request.

 

I heard her stirring on the floor for some thirty seconds or so, before I felt her fingers reach out and brush my face. It tickled slightly and I held back the urge to laugh at her clumsiness in the dark. I took her hand, lacing my fingers between hers. I shifted towards the far side of the cot, giving her space to climb on. The ancient springs inside the mattress squeaked angrily at the addition of another soul. She positioned herself on her side, facing me. I could tell because I felt the cool breath of her exhalations against my skin. We lay there for some minutes as our eyes adjusted to the dark again; fingers still entwined. Our noses brushed against one another and she giggled. I moved forward and kissed her. It was sudden and strange. Her lips were as soft as they had been against my fingers, but against my _lips_ they felt different somehow. She kissed me back. This continued for a while, and I felt the throb of my cock again. It was as if she had the power of divinity then, because she broke away from the embrace and told me that she was ready for me. Her voice was deeper than before, almost masculine, which was odd, but not _un_ -appealing. She rolled onto her back and I hoisted myself up and over her, until I was above her on my hands and knees. My penis fell forward, pressing against the fabric of my underwear, creating a raised, tent-like spectacle. It twitched and I bucked forward as the jolt coursed through me. I almost collapsed on top of her, and she squeaked. The noise was bizarrely endearing to my ear; I will admit that I wanted to hear it again.

 

She cooed softly and reached up, brushing my hair gently with her fingers. The combined effect was paralysing, and I had a sudden moment of clarity: this was woman’s true power over men. Edward must have understood the debilitating nature of such intimacy; and sought to remove it from the minds of his men. While my mind raced, the girl had started on my buttons, as she had in the dream. Each small, dexterous movement brushed my length. It took all my will not to cry out “Stop!” as my rational mind protested, yet every treacherous nerve in my body fought against me: “Keep going!”

 

She had finished. I felt the balmy night air on my erection as it fell ungraciously forward again. She shifted under me, and I realised that she was hitching up her filthy, ragged dress. I could feel the heat of her body rising from between her legs. She whispered something in my ear, but I couldn’t make it out. The pressure in my cock was unbearable. I needed release. I moved forward, putting my weight on one elbow. With my free hand, I fumbled until I found her wrist. I tried to form words. I think she understood. She kissed me once more, fiercely, and I felt her fingers close around me. I cried out in agony and confusion as her grip tightened.

 

I wanted her to stop; to make her understand. This wasn’t right. Something was wrong. She didn’t stop. She moved her hand up and down, twisting as she did so. Every passing second was a nightmare. The pain was like a stitch in my side, or pus pressing against a blistered wound. I yelped. Like a dog. Even in the dark my vision began to turn red. I had to stop her. She was going to kill me. Murdering whore. I grit my teeth and bared forward until I was completely on top of her, straddling her at the waist. Her barbaric hands began to scratch desperately at the mattress. I squeezed my thighs against her ribs, and she squeaked again. It wasn’t endearing anymore. My cock slapped angrily against her stomach as she thrashed beneath me. The sound of flesh on flesh repulsed me. I closed my eyes and saw the grotesque, pestilent chodes of Edward’s recruits, pumping in and out of gaping cunts like pistons. I saw the dimpled ass of the Whore of Babylon, moaning and mooing like Brahmin in heat. How dare she make me endure such suffering. I heard her panicked shrieks as I reached around her throat with my hands. She gargled and I sneered. I began to squeeze. I wanted her to feel the pressure – the excruciating pressure – that she had forced me to endure. Her arms started to shake, and I pressed down.

 

“Do you see what you’ve done!” I barked at her. “I want you to _feel_ what I have had to feel.”

 

She stopped thrashing then, and I knew she understood. Her fingers twitched slightly at my sides. I breathed in deeply. Taking my hands off her throat I leaned back on my haunches, exhausted. I felt for my penis. It was tender, but soft and small again. I sighed in relief and rolled over. The girl remained. My brow furrowed in annoyance. She had another thing coming if she thought I would share my bed with her _now_.

 

“Stupid whore.” I kicked her off the bed and she landed with a loud _thud_ on the earth. I closed my eyes and slept soundly.

 

***

 

“Graham, you selfish little _prick_! I’d promised the boys they could have a go when you were done!” The edge of laughter in Edward’s voice betrayed his otherwise stony demeanour. I opened my arms in an apologetic shrug.

 

“I am sorry, my _Lord_. Unfortunately, I found I was… unable to help myself.” I shrugged again and he laughed and slapped me on the shoulder.

 

I smiled thinly. “I always learn from my mistakes. Next time I’ll do better.”

 

“Oh yes? And how’s that?”

 

I ran my hand through my hair thoughtfully, my mind racing with the events of the night.

 

“Well,” my tone was measured and direct. “For starters, next time I’ll make sure to ask her name.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! As always any kudos or comments are greatly appreciated, but not necessary.


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